


Allonymous

by AngryGayFriend



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Race Changes, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-07 23:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryGayFriend/pseuds/AngryGayFriend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Amis are concerned Enjolras is working himself into an early grave, which means they need to get him a significant other, obviously. After one too many failed dates, he speaks before he thinks and winds up in need a fake serious boyfriend to meet his friends next meeting. Enter Grantaire, parttime artist, fulltime nihilist, all around just what he needed all along. (based off prete-moi ta main)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fort Minable

Enjolras sits across from Les Amis, a very stern but concerned Combeferre directly across from him at the head of the table. Usually, it's a seat he would occupy, but today he is not leading the meeting, but instead its topic.

"We just want you to be happy," Combeferre says diplomatically, even though he takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes which is the undoubted sign he's nearing the end of even his patience. "And killing yourself over work certainly isn't that."

"So we were thinking," Courfeyrac chimes in with a bit of a smile, speaking cautiously because he knows this won't be too well-received by the Chief, "that you should start dating."

"Excuse me?" he instantly scowls from across the table.

"Just hear us out," he tries to allay, "there are a lot of benefits being in a stable relationship and mental well-being--"

"Don't try to sound like Joly, Courf, and anyways--"

"We're not asking for you to marry them or anything soon, we just think it would be a good idea for you to start dating. I mean you haven't actually gone a date in how long?" Jehan asks.

"Since college," Enjolras grumbles, eyes fixed on the table.

"How long specifically?"

Enjolras is actually pouting now, speaking just barely audible, "Six years."

"Jesus fucking Christ man," Bahorel lets out the longest sigh, "Please do us all a favor and get laid."

"Not just get laid, actually interact emotionally with people," Jehan corrects, "Since you started up the firm you've just been getting more and more closed off."

"If you're trying to suggest I'm not emotionally invested in you all--" Enjolras starts to counter when Joly interrupts.

"None of us doubt your friendship, but that's different from actually being emotionally available and vulnerable," Joly says then takes a sip of wine.

Enjolras just frowns at the table again.

"All we're asking is that you let us set you up on a few dates. If they go to shit they go to shit, just go out with a few people and who knows," Bossuet shrugs.

There's a long silence and when ti looks li Enjolras is going to be a contrarian about this, Combeferre sighs, "All in favor of the motion?"

Everyone else's hands shoot up, then Combeferre gives a wry smile, "Adopted."

The first date Enjolras ends up on is scheduled or a few days later. Everyone had synced up their calendars for meetings (while they all stayed in the same city after graduating, different jobs and wildly different schedules made it a necessity) so of ocurse he can't pretend he's busy with something to get out of this date.

_her name is elisabeth, don't be late. :)_

He frowns at the text message from Courfeyrac as he rounds the corner to the cafe. The day is nice enough he can manage to sit outside in the spring air. He watches the cars speed by the nearby intersection, fidgeting with the sleeves of his light sweater as he imagines all the work he'll doubtlessly have to catch up on as soon as he gets back into the office.

"Excuse me?"

He turns and smiles up at her, his polite, charming, sweetfaced smile.

"Elisabeth?"

"OH, yes!" She laughs, rosy cheeked and mousy brown hair cut short and tousled in the wind. She's objectively cute, he must admit, in her sundress and sweater and septum piercing.

"Enjolras, I take it then?"

He nods and extends his hand, "Yes, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Wow, I knew you were attractive from your picture, but I didn't think--I just mean, ah," she's flusters as she takes his hand, "You're quite pretty. Handsome!"

That startles a laugh out of him, "Thanks, but you're quite pretty yourself too." He's good at being charming, at being the gentleman, the part his parents groomed him for so well. This is easy, but it isn't him.

The date itself goes well enough. She's the type of girl Enjolras' mother would be happy to meet, but not the type he could bring to a rally and that's what really matters to him.

\---

The next date is a little rockier. He's a rocker, punk specifically, with a feminist slogan on his chest and a short mohawk that Enjolras thinks maybe these might be good signs.

Laurent greets him with alcohol hard on his breath outside of a club that's worn out at its seams, siting on shaky foundations that rocks to the loud music.

"Do you usually come out to concerts like this?" He asks while they're still outside, mkaing a bit of small talk before heading in.

"I'm a band manager, so I should hope so," he smiles.

"How late do these things usually go? I really haven't ever been a concert before," he says as he looks the place up and down, and old house probably from the 1800's, adjusting his satchel's strap. He's a little self-conscious oddly enough. He's not wearing a protest t-shirt for once and he feels underdressed because of it.

"Why, do you a curfew I need to get you back by?" Laurent smirks, "Come on, they're probably starting soon and we might as well get in before it gets too crazy," he grabs Enjolras hand and tugs him down a set of cramped, dirty stairs with band posters and stickers and graffiti litering the sides. Enjolras can't help but smile a little at the slogans, not holding Laurent's hand but not pulling away till they're at the end of the tunnel, in a shady basement with a stage and bar.

"I'll get you a drink, pick your poison," he smiles.

"Just root beer's fine."

"Are you sure?"

Enjolras nods, "Yeah, it's fine."

Laurent gives him a look and Enjolras wonders if this is going to be a thing. He looks over at the crowd now, noticing a bunch of mohawks here and there, bald heads, band t-shirts all through the crowd. The band is just about done setting up on the worn wood stage, five people with a lot of electric guitars and eyeliner. He can't help but notice he is, without a doubt, the only remotely non-white person there, but he's not sure if that should be concerning.

Laurent comes back with the drinks as they stand by the side wall, not yet in the thick of it.

"Here," he says over the dull roar of the crowd, offering two white tablets in the palm of his hand.

Enjolras takes a deep breath through his nose to center himself.

"No, I'm good," he tries really hard to smile but he's not sure it comes out right.

"Suit yourself," Laurent shrugs, downing a tablet and taking a long sip of his beer.

Once the band starts playing Enjolras lets himself out five minutes later while Laurent's high is kicking in so he won't notice.

\---

After that, he starts to get annoyed with the whole thing. Going out with people isn't fun or interesting, just exhausting when he's got projects and work and deadlines on top of it.

The third girl is all business, and he figures she was picked for their scarily similar work ethics. She's nice and she knows when to smile, but then again so does he, and it ends up being more of an interview then anything enjoyable.

The fourth girl not-so-subtly asks to fuck him in a Starbucks bathroom.

The fifth boy is right before a Musain meeting, and he figures they nearly expect Enjolras to bring him after in the case it goes well. Combeferre gives him a sort of look though when he comes in alone.

\---

"Out of all the people you've gone out with, not one has even gotten a second date?" Courfeyrac asks with his chin propped up on his arm, sitting next to Combeferre.

Enjolras just shrugs and sips his water.

"Did you seriously give any of them a chance or did you shoot them all down within the first ten minutes?" Feuilly asks.

"I only walked out on two of them, the rest completely normal dates that just didn't work out, okay?" He snaps, "Not all of this is my fault, maybe you all just aren't picking well, and maybe I don't really need a date, has that crossed any of your minds?"

"Incidentally, yes, but then you spent 6 years aggressively married to your work and in the hospital three times for exhaustion," Joly frowns at him.

"How about you ask out someone you like instead of us picking?" Jehan offers.

"Because he's pinholed on The Cause and can't be bothered to like someone of his own accord, otherwise he would've had a date in all that time," Courfeyrac offers before sipping water.

At that point the table starts to devolve into chatter about the various reasons why Enjolras couldn't possibly be placed in charge of his own love life. Because he's busy, because he won't take it seriously, because he's not intersted but not happy either, because his standards are impossibly high and he expects the perfect non-problematic person, because...

"Goddamnit!" He bangs a fist on the table as he stands, "And what if I don't want to date someone? Does any of that matter?"

"You won't take care of yourself for yourself, you won't take care of yourself for us, so we're trying to find someone you will take care of yourself for lest you put yourself in an early grave at this rate," Combeferre explains, nonplussed at his temper.

"Well I've already found someone."

The entire table is taken aback.

"Excuse me?" Jehan asks with a raised eyebrow.

It was the easiest lie he could think to say, but he realizes this could go very poorly very quickly.

"I didn't want to tell you all until I knew it was serious," he says easily, pulling back from the table and trying to look casual as he paces a bit.

"So it is serious?" Bahorel asks.

He nods, flashing a small smile.

"So when do we met them?" Courfeyrac asks, folding his arms.

"Soon."

Feuilly chimes in now, "How soon?"

"At the next meeting, probably."

"Alright," Bossuet says cautiously, none of them entirely sure if they can buy it or not. "So you'll bring your significant other to the next meeting at the Musain, and we'll all get to meet them."

"Yeah."

There's a long silence then Combeferre finally cedes, "Alright," he smiles and stands, "Adopted."

As everyone starts to leave, he passes Enjolras with a knowing smile that means Enjolras better not be shitting them.

Which of course means it's time to call Cosette.

\---

"Why would you do that?" She says into the phone, sitting at her kitchen counter while Marius, her fiancee, miserably tries his hand at making pasta for dinner.

Enjolras sits in his roommate-less flat, hugging a pillow to his chest because he's never been good at these things. "I just thought maybe it would end the conversation. But now they want to meet my significant other and I have no idea what to do."

"Tell them the truth, that's what you do!" She scolds.

"But Cosette," he whines to his sister, rolling onto his side with the phone still propped to his ear, "Then they'll just keep setting me up and I cannot go on another date, I actually cannot."

"You're such a drama queen about these things, there hypothetically are much better ways to do get your friends off your back about thsi kind of stuff."

"Yes, but right now, my situation is rather dire, so instead of talking about hypotheticals, it would hypothetically be helpful if you could give me some ideas."

Sbe lets out a long sigh that comes as harsh static on the other line. "See? Drama queen. Calm down, first of all, you'll give yourself an anxiety attack at this rate and I'm not even joking," he hears her dismount the stool and pad around the kitchen. "Do you have any friends who could pretend to be your significant other for a night?"

"My friends are the Amis, so no."

"Yes, but like, acquaintances? Anyone who might be willing?"

"You overestimate my social skills greatly."

She laughs, before getting a bit more serious, "Alright, can you hire someone then?"

"Like," he sits up with a grave tone, "Like a sex worker?"

"Potentially, yes."

"I don't exactly have the kind of funds to hire a sex worker for multiple weeks on end, Cosette," now he stands and starts pacing around the room.

"Multiple weeks?"

"Well if I just say it's a serious relationship, show up with someone for one meeting, and then they magically never appear again, that's not exactly convincing, is it?"

Cosette hums in consideration, "I suppose. See, if you date them for a while and then break up with them in a really visible way, they'll probably be less likely to bring up relationships again with you."

"Shit, that's a good idea," he stops, chewing his lip for a moment as he mulls it over. "If we have a huge break up, then I get really depressed over it for a while, they won't touch the subject ever again."

"Look into prices people might be asking for,” she suggests. “Or if you have any acquaintances, because I am sure you secretly do, no one is THAT non-social, Enjolras."

"Alright alright," he sighs, feeling much calmer now that he has a plan. "Do you know anyone whom it might be worth contacting too?"

"I don't think I do, but Marius might. He's still in contact with a lot of the guys from college."

Enjolras hears Marius yell a greeting in the background now that his name has been mentioned and he chuckles over the line. "Great, I'll call you later with my progress."

"I look forward to seeing your master plan in motion, brother dearest."

He smiles and wishes it translated over the phone. "Thank you, Cosette. I'd be ever so lost without you."

"We're all aware, dear."

\---

That evening he does look into sex worker prices and, ambiguous morality feelings aside, he's definitely outpriced. He calculates maybe two months’ worth is definitely enough (it'd be odd if right after meeting everyone this mystery person breaks up with him or vice versa) tie to make it all work. He scours all kinds of sites trying to find a potential "someone," but this plan might be a bit harder than he expected.

Curled up on his couch in the fourth day of searching (and three days till the next meeting) he gets a text from Cosette while he's at work.

You owe Marius for this.

Accompanied with an address and time and he's not sure what exactly what's going on in the whole drive over there right after he gets off.

He's still dressed too nicely for the place, honey hair sleek and his suit sharp even sans jacket and tie. It's a simple restaurant (if that, more like a bar that serves some food) and he's not sure just who or what he's looking for when he comes into the place.

It's called The Corinthe, and he notices everyone here seems to be regulars while he's woefully out of place. He sits down in a random booth and orders food as he waits. In his previous dates whoever he was supposed to meet managed to find him, so he figures this person can too.

When he's nearly done with his fries, finally someone slides into the other seat.

"Enjolras?" he asks, doing a surprisingly good job with the tricky syllables.

"Yes, and you are?"

The man has dark hair in an undercut with curls piled high and his green eyes have heavy bags under them that show even against his tan skin. "Grantaire," he introduces as he offers his hand. His sleeves are rolled up, showing an array of blackwork tattoos scrawled up his arm.

"Pleasure," Enjolras smiles and shakes his hand.

He sips from a wine glass he must have brought over from wherever he was sitting before, then gives Enjolras a wide smile. "I went to college with Marius, and he said you've gotten yourself into a little mess," he explains.

Enjolras gives him a skeptical look but sighs and relents, "Yes well, that's one way to put it. My friends are convinced I can't exist happily while being single, so I need someone to be in a serious relationship with me for a while, 'break up,'" he literally uses air quotes, "with me, and I'll seem all upset about it and my friends won't bother setting me up with anyone for a while. That's, that's basically the plan."

Grantaire raises both eyebrows then takes a long sip of wine after he's finished. "You got yourself into some ridiculous shit, Apollo."

"Excuse me?"

"Lucky for you, I'm in need of money and I always like ridiculous shit."

"Apollo? Seriously?"

Grantaire shrugs, smiling, "You look it, you know. I would've imagined the sun shat you out itself."

Enjolras makes a frustrated and confused face as Grantaire continues, "Now, about my fee--"

"Hold on," he interrupts, "I didn't agree to hiring you just yet."

Grantaire rolls his eyes but smiles, "When do you need a beard by again?"

Enjolras hesitates, "Three days," he mumbles.

He snorts, "Yeah. Okay. That's what I thought. Now, my fee," he carries on, "we'll say eight weeks, 8 hours a day, 5 days a week basically," he takes out a small sketchpad and flips to a blank page, quickly writing out the math, "living wage is what? Like $15? Then...we'll make it an even $5000 for simplicity sake, plus a bonus at the end if it all works out correctly, say $500. Otherwise, I still expect to be paid the hourly fee whatever happens. Is that amenable?"

"You know I'm not exactly rolling in money, right? Besides, how do I know you'll actually be any good at playing my boyfriend?" He gawks.

Grantaire raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, then turns back to his scratchpad, "Going by productivity wage, that's more around $20 an hour, which brings it up to $6400, let's call it $6000 and throw in the $400 if we pull it off. That's my new offer, that's as low as it's going to go, rich boy in your Paul Smith slim fit shirt. Now here's my number," he scrawls the digits and rips off the page, tossing it on the table, "Give me a call when you realize that's the best offer you're going to get in the next three days, and you can either stop being a little liar and tell your friends the truth and put up with the dates they throw at you, or you could help out a starving artist. Call it charity, if you want, and give yourself a pat on the fucking back," he smiles, drains the rest of his wine, and then he's out.

Enjolras picks his jaw up off the floor five minutes later, pays the bill and sees himself out.

\---

It's the night before the Musain meeting tomorrow and of course he doesn't find a better rate than that. Everyone else he could possibly find asked for at least $10,000, and it's not as if he's actually made of money. His parents help with the apartment but his clothes are a vestige from when he was actually in their good graces. As for actual cash on hand, they don't help enough for him to have much of that.

He lets out a long sigh, and figures he might as fucking well.

He's sulking on the couch again, his usual pillow hugged to his chest as the phone rings on the other end, once.. twice..

"Hello?"

"Ah, Grantaire?"

"Mm? What is it?"

"I-It's Enjolras," he struggles to get out.

"Ah, right! What can I do for you?"

"Well, I've thought over your offer, and I'd like to hire your services. Could you please come over so we could discuss and draft a full contract?"

He can practically hear Grantaire smirk over the phone, "Sure thing, Apollo, where are you at?"

-

About 20 minutes later there's a knock on the door, and Enjolras hops up to get it in his oversized sweater, greeting a mussted Grantaire with a smile. He's trying to be as polite as possible, "Thanks for stopping by on such short notice."

"Cutting it a little close, this is the night before, is it not?" He asks as he lets himself in, looking around the apartment.

"Yes, and--"

"My fee hasn't changed you know, and it won't."

"I know, that's not a problem, just," He begins as he walks back to the coffee table in the living room, picking up a few papers, "the rest of the details we need to hash out."

Grantaire quirks an eyebrow and heads over, taking off a heavy green coat and tossing it on a chair, plopping down. "What details?"

Enjolras pushes his hair from his face (he hasn't slicked back the curls today) and puts on his nerdy reading glasses as he looks over what's already been written. "It starts tomorrow when you meet them, but then continues for 2 months wherein we go on dates, are just generally seen together, and then there will be a break up and everything. The thing is, you have to act like someone they will like as well as someone I would like, it has to make sense why we're together."

"Are you saying I am currently unlikable," Grantaire smiles, curling up a bit in the chair.

"I'm saying I'm not one to enter relationships for no reason."

"Alright, then what's the reason?"

"Well," Enjolras chews his lip as he thinks, "The closer to reality it is, the more believable it'll be. So what do you do?"

"I told you," Grantaire says as he stretches, rolling up the sleeves of his worn sweater, showing off more of his tattoos, "I'm an artist. I work at a museum right now to pay the bills kind of, but I do that art shit."

"What kind of art shit? Is it more art activism?"

"What the fuck are you talking about, 'art activism?' Like Banksy or something?" Grantaire asks.

"Well sort of," he shrugs, "I do a lot of activism myself, I just got a job at a firm that does a lot of pro-bono for a reason, that's important to me and my friends, so if you have any way to play that up--"

"No," Grantaire cuts in, "I don't usually do activism with my art, I just make it." After a beat he continues, "But, I guess.. we could say I'm moving towards that more.

"That's a start," Enjolras sighs.

"Alright now, what else?"

"Well," Enjolras sighs again because he's quite good at it, "Hobbies? Favorite books? Movies? Political leanings--?"

"Fuck you are activist."

"Yes, thank you for noticing."

"You have Liberty Leading the People on your wall and a poster from the May '68, you are killing me here, Apollo."

"Yes, great, I'm a revolution nerd, congratulations, Sherlock fucking Holmes."

Grantaire holds his hands up, "No judgment, just making an observation. Now," He clears his throat and sits up straight, "I paint, I read, I go to museums, I like kids and dogs, though I have neither. My favorite book is Infinite Jest, and I've read basically the whole revolutionary canon out there and I think they're all full of shit, both Rousseau and Locke--definitely Rousseau and Locke--and I liked the Avengers movie but I'll watch basically anything, even those weird indie film festival things. Political leanings? Cynical nihilist."

Enjolras quirks an eyebrow, pursing his lips. "Libertarian socialist."

Grantaire barks a laugh, "Fuuuck," he bemoans. "Fuck, we make quite a pair."

Enjolras can't help but smile, "I suppose we do," he says despite the knot of anxiety twisting in his gut.

\---

Grantaire goes home that evening late when the trains have nearly stopped running. They picked times for well-placed lovey-dovey phone calls, dates, when Grantaire "goes home" with Enjolras and spends the night so his friends with not-so-subtly think they are actually sleeping together. And of course, they run through the basics of their personal lives and how they're going to interact with the group tomorrow.

As Enjolras waits at his apartment (it's closer and Grantaire knows where it is now, as opposed to Enjolras getting hopelessly lost looking for Grantaire's) he realizes they didn't talk about PDA. He tells himself not to worry, even as he paces like a madman and wrings his hands without even realizing. He adjusts his clothes and adjusts his clothes and it's still not perfect when the doorbell rings and he forgets why he's even so nervous for this, it's not like he's actually introducing his boyfriend to his friends or something.

"Hey," Grantaire smiles when he opens the door. He's dressed decently, with an actual button down and actual sweater, no matter if it's a bit rumpled.

"Hey," Enjolras smiles and swallows the bubble of anxiety pushing against his throat. He fixes his worn blazer one more time before locking the apartment up, heading down the stairs with Grantaire before they can be late, not saying anything else to the man.

They've walked about three blocks before Grantaire finally breaks the silence, "Okay, you are so nervous, I'm afraid you're going to explode."

"I'm not nervous--"

"Enjolras," He rolls his eyes dramatically and takes his hand, giving it a firm squeeze. "If it doesn't go well, then it doesn't go well, you can 'break up' with me right after and that's it. If it doesn't go according to plan, we work through it and before you know it, tonight will be over, it'll be tomorrow and you won't be nervous about this anymore. Okay?" He smiles reassuringly and Enjolras notices his canines are a little crooked. He looks a little wolfish between those and the stubble around his chin, but his eyes make into more of a puppy.

Enjolras sighs, "Fine," he looks away but squeezes his hand back. "Now tell me about your sister again."

 

By the time they get to the Musain, they are five minutes late as planned, so they can make a proper entrance with everyone there and so he doesn't have to re-introduce and re-introduce Grantaire. (He doesn't want to accidentally get a small detail wrong.)

They walk in still holding hands, and as they climb the stairs to the backroom, all eyes of turn on them. Even Musichetta, who had been grabbing empty glasses, stops and looks Grantaire over.

"Everyone," Enjolras announces as he walks in further, "This is Grantaire. Grantaire, um, this is everyone."

Grantaire slides his arm around Enjolras' waist, resting his hand just on the small of his back in a fluid motion that helps calm him down.

"It's a pleasure, Enjolras has always said great things about you."

Combeferre is the first to break the silence, the Indian man approaches, half-raising an eyebrow with a bit of a smile on his face. He can tell Grantaire isn't exactly who Enjolras would usually consider as a friend let alone a soulmate, but he's not giving him The Look, so the cover isn't blown just yet.

"I'm Combeferre, it's nice to meet you too."

Enjolras speaks before Grantaire can respond, "I'd go through everyone's names but you'll probably forget them so--"

"No, I think I know," he smiles looking through the group, "I take it, you're Feuilly," he says to the ginger who gives a small bow of his head, "and you're," he points to Courf, "Courfeyrac?"

He breaks out into a smile, "I like him already, Enj."

"Okay, then you must be Jehan," he says to the short-haired man in suspenders who nods at him.

"And," his eyes scan the group again, "Bahorel?"

"Bossuet," the man laughs, "Enj probably said something about my hair, so wearing the hat is kind of cheating, I guess."

Grantaire chuckles, "Sorry, then I guess that's Bahorel in that case," he points to the tall black man who laughs and pulls into a strong hug.

 

From there, everyone falls into conversation a little more easily, Grantaire not straying too far off from Enjolras so they can keep their fibs straight. He's not overly affectionate, just a few well-placed touches here and there to assure everyone they're familiar. Enjolras is a bit off-put at first but slowly warms up to it over the course of the night. They set a maximum drink count at 3 over the evening and praise Jesus that Grantaire is adhering to it. He even manages to convince Enjolras to take a sip of wine which convinces everyone that they are that damn serious. Finally, just as planned, Grantaire "gets a call" and has to duck out a little early. Enjolras goes in for a quick cheek kiss at the door but Grantaire misses ("misses"?) and it ends up a peck instead as he then leaves.

Enjolras stands by the door for a moment, fighting down the blush on his face with a steadying breath (or two) before turning back to his friends.

"Well?"

Jehan pulls him into a huge hug, "I love him! I absolutely adore him, Enjolras, I am so happy," he kisses his cheek, smiling at him bright and unabashed. "I'm so proud of you, and thank you, thank you so much for sharing him with us I'm sorry you ever felt that you couldn't mention him to us before."

Enjolras blinks then smiles, "It's alright, I'm just-- I'm just glad you like him."

Bahorel gives him a hefty pat on the shoulder, "You did good, Enj. I didn't think you'd end up with someone who didn't have a gigantic stick up his ass."

They all in turn congratulate him before deciding that it is actually pretty late and they should probably head home. None mention the unproductiveness of the meeting, but it's alright. They all kind of figured it'd end up this way.

As everyone filters out, Combeferre and Enjolras lock eyes and he knows That Look, so he waits around till they're both the only two left.

"So, Grantaire," Combeferre says.

Enjolras swallows, "Yep. Grantaire."

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little surprised."

"Why's that?"

"Well as Bahorel put it, 'he doesn't have a gigantic stick up his ass,'" He chuckles. "I don't know, I just figured you'd pick someone as equally work-driven and sleep-deprived as you if left to your own devices. I didn't think you'd actually choose to date someone who balanced you out."

"Oh.." He says, unsure how to take that.

"What I'm saying is," Combeferre thinks for a moment, "I'm happy for you. And I'm proud that you found someone compassionate and smart who might actually get you to sleep and eat like a normal human being so you don't burn out. Also, he is pretty cute."

"R-Really?" Enjolras blinks.

Combeferre shrugs, "I can tell when people are objectively attractive, you know. And while he.. isn't exactly part of normative beauty standards..." Enjolras isn't one to find a person 'hot' or something, but he can tell Grantaire has acne scars and is a bit on the overweight side and looks like the embodied of an exasperated sigh, "but he's cute in his own way."

"Thanks," he manages to smile, "I think so too."

Combeferre raises an eyebrow at him, then chuckles, "I don't think you realize just how lucky you are yet Enjolras, but you probably will later. It's fine, either way, let's get going before they kick us out for closing though."

When Enjolras gets home, he has a text from Grantaire,

_See you tomorrow for date #1._

He can't help but smile at it.

\---

Date #1 is supposed to be simple.

He comes to Enjolras' firm (where he works with Courfeyrac and Marius and Bahorel), drops off lunch, and leaves. He texted Marius that day to let him know not to say anything besides that he introduced the two, and that's it. It's a simple, simple plan. After the smashing success of last night he figures this too will go without a hitch. So when his lunch break is rolling around, he watches the minutes tick by one by one, tapping his fingers impatiently.

"We're heading out to lunch, are you coming, honeybunches?" Courfeyrac asks, leaning over the top of his cubicle with his brown curls falling in his face.

Enjolras smiles, "No thanks, I'll be alright. I just want to finish going through a couple old case files and then I'll be good."

"Well.. alright," Courf shrugs, "We'll bring you back some chips or something at least," he says as he goes.

"You don't have to do that," he calls out but he, Bahorel, and Marius are already rounding the corner.

Enjolras sighs, checking the time. Date #1 was supposed to be fucking simple.

Grantaire doesn't stop by at all that day and Enjolras seriously wants to burn the building down by the end of it. He laid out clear, simple instructions about time and place. They had both agreed and Grantaire was allegedly being paid for this. If he wasn't going "to work" then why was Enjolras wasting his energy and money on this farce. Finally when 5PM rolls around, Enjolras annoyedly packs up his stuff before Courf can even invite him out to drinks (it is Friday night afterall) and heads out to the lobby, walking with a purpose, when he stops--

"Grantaire?"

"Hm? Oh, there you are," he smiles easily like he was always supposed to be there waiting for Enjolras. He's facing a huge painting they've always had hanging there. "This is a famous Newman, you know. Well, you might not, you probably don't, but this is. Your bourgie firm would have a Barnett Newman piece. It's kind of a big deal."

Enjolras blinks, not expecting that conversational topic. His anger dissipates as he looks up at the painting. "It's just, a line."

Grantaire makes a frustrated sound at the back of his throat, "Seriously, Apollo? Fine, just take my word for it then, it's a great painting. You can go around repeating that at parties with your fancy law partners and sound cultured, okay?"

Enjolras chuckles, "You ramble a lot, you know?"

Grantaire gets quiet and gives him a long look before reaching into his bag and pulling out a tupperware container, "Sorry I'm late."

Enjolras blinks and just then he hears Courf, Bahorel, and Marius all heading down from the elevator.

"Grantaire!" Bahorel exclaims with arms open, pulling the man into a tight hug.

"Oof, hey man," Grantaire smiles and hugs back despite Bahorel basically crushing him with that height difference.

"Hey you, fancy seeing you here," Courf laughs, "We were just heading out for drinks, you wanna come?"

Grantaire blinks, "Ah, um--"

"I don't usually go," Enjolras says, "But if you want to, I will. It'll be a good chance to get more acquainted with everyone, since we're not keeping everything on the down low anymore." He's giving Grantaire time to formulate a real answer and he figures this way, if he's still paying Grantaire for 8 hours, it'll actually be worth the money now.

"Well, if you don't mind, sure. Though I'll probably be a little out of place with all you suits." He gestures to his dark jeans that are almost turning into paintings with the spills and stains on them and his worn green shirt.

"Nonsense, it'll be fun," Enjolras smiles and places his hand on Grantaire's upper arm. A simple gesture but for whatever reason he can feel Grantaire tense up just a bit under his hand.

So that is how they end up in a bar with Enjolras and Marius sipping soda and Grantaire starts out with wine but works his way up to whiskey after one glass, and somehow ends up with a tequila shot in his hand somewhere along the line. Courfeyrac started off pretty good but he had every intention of hooking up tonight so he was with Grantaire for the whiskey and is now grinding on a table with two girls. Bahorel is neck and neck with Grantaire for drinks but is allegedly "done and out," even as he goes to find a bear on the dance floor to get it on with for the moment. While Grantaie originally joined them on the dance floor along with Marius, with the pumping music and smell of sex and sweat out there, Enjolras is content to nurse his soda by the bar. But of course, Grantaire on tequila cannot have that.

"Enjolras, come the fuck on, we have been here for like, two hours and you have not gotten that fine ass on the dance floor yet," he comes up slurring, sloppy in his movements.

"Grantaire, I'm fine."

"Is that stick so far up your ass it's making a steel spine that you are physically incapable of swaying your hips now? Because if not, you have no reason not to fucking dance."

"Grantaire, seriously," Enjolras frowns, not liking where this is going.

"Fine, fine, whatever your fucking Majesty, dear Apollo, grim Phoebus," he turns to the bartender, "Another tequila shot."

"Grantaire," he says more stern now, "You are cut off, you've had way too much already."

"Hardly," he rolls his eyes, taking the shot, "I have had much more tequila than this in my day," he downs it before Enjolras can wretch it from him.

"Damnit Grantaire--"

"Careful," he raises an eyebrow and plops down in the seat next to him, "They might think there's trouble in paradise at this rate."

Enjolras glares daggers but doesn't say anything, sipping his root beer moodily.

"Now," Grantaire rambles on, "you know they called Apollo Aphetor in some legends? And Aphetor means 'to let loose' and you know what you suck up, my dear Pythius? The ability to let loose, so maybe I should be calling you Virgin Artemis at this rate, because Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ, Enjolras."

"You're mixing your mythologies now."

"Oh excuse me, princess, you want to school me on my mythos?"

"Are you always this fucking argumentative when you're drunk?" He snaps.

Grantaire purses his lips and shrugs. There's a brief silence that Enjolras is thankful for before he breaks it, "So are you dancing with me or not?"

"Damnit, Grantaire, No!"

"Fine! Fine," he huffs a sigh before looking back at the dance floor, not moving yet.

Enjolras just lets him sit in the silence before the bartender breaks it now, "Excuse me?"

"Hm?"

"The gentleman over there sends his regards," he says as he places one of those expensive, fancy drinks down. Enjolras looks over at the guy the bartender indicated, an older man not entirely unattractive but definitely pushing into his 40's, wearing a too-expensive suit and a shit-eating grin. Enjolras rolls his eyes, "No thanks," he says to the bartender.

"A guy offers you free liquor and you're not going to down it? It's free booze, Enjolras."

"Aren't you supposed to be my protective boyfriend right now?"

Grantaire huffs, "It's free booze!"

"If you want free booze so badly, you drink it! I am fine as I am, thank you," he frowns, going back to watching the dance floor because it's more interesting than watching drunk people just get drunker sitting around.

Grantaire gladly does, taking the cosmopolitan martini and sipping it quickly.

"Now THAT is the official last drink of the night, I don't care how much tequila you've had before."

"Alright, alright," he chuckles, just sitting with Enjolras for a few minutes as heavy beat songs play in and out and bodies keep grinding against one another in what looks like nearly a mass orgy.

Grantaire then rubs his face with both hands and keeping his face covered, leans his elbows on the bar.

Enjolras chuckles, "You getting tired?"

There's a moment of no reply and Enjolras finally looks over at him, "Grantaire?"

"Mm?"

"Are you okay?" He asks.

"Mm."

He grows concerned, leaning in closer now, "Grantaire? Are you alright?"

He shakes his head barely as Enjolras places his hand on his back, rubbing circles.

"Do you feel like you're going to throw up?"

"I feel," he starts quietly, "I feel like the room is spinning. Not in a good way."

Enjolras sighs, "Okay, time to get you home," he turns to the bartender, hand not leaving Grantaire's back, "Can I get a bottle of water to go and you can pay for whatever drinks on my card," he says handing it over.

He takes the bottle and leads Grantaire out, firing off a text once he's outside that they're heading home now and calling a cab. Grantaire holds on to the side of his shirt, eyes fixated mostly on the ground as he blinks drowsily, taking sips of water now and again.

By the time they get to the apartment, Grantaire is clinging more to Enjolras, his legs like jelly as they take the elevator up to his apartment. He still doesn't know where Grantaire lives and now is not the time to be fumbling over it when Grantaire seems to be getting more and more out of it.

They stumble into the apartment and Enjolras manages to get Grantaire to lie the fuck down as he calls Joly, sitting on the coffee table by Grantaire's head.

"Enjolras? Why are you calling me so late on a Friday--"

"I think Grantaire got drugged at the bar," the words rush out of him as the scared knot in his stomach twists further.

THere's a pause, "Is he with you right now?"

"Yes."

He hears Joly let out a deep breath on the end of the line, "That's a very good start, okay. Is he lucid?"

"Barely."

"Do you have any idea what he was drugged with?"

Enjolras sighs, "There was a drink, um, that a guy sent over to me, but Grantaire drank it. So, I think.. um.."

"Alright, if he's been ruffied you can take him to the hospital or call an ambulance, but honestly, he'll likely be fine if he just sleeps it off and if you monitor him."

"And if he's not fine and he's sleeping it off here?"

"Well if it seems like he's got severe alcohol poisoning or something on top of it and is like, in really bad shape, definitely call the ambulance."

"Okay," he takes a long deep breath, "Okay."

"Do you want me to come over? It's no trouble--"

"No, I'll-- It'll be fine. I'll call you if I need you to, alright?" He asks as Grantaire seems to be coming back into it.

"Sounds good, keep me updated."

He ends the call just as Grantaire opens his eyes, "Well, fuck." 

"Hey, you're staying the night here," Enjolras says. "Non-negotiable."

"I don't think I could argue even if I wanted," he sighs, rolling over onto his side.

"I'm gonna get you more water okay?"

Grantaire just nods as Enjolras gets up and heads to the kitchen. When he returns with the water,

"Could you take out the container in my bag and heat it up? Kinda hungry," Grantaire says softly, slowly, like he's trying but his brain is wading through molasses.

Enjolras nods and grabs it, popping it in the microwave quickly and kneeling down by Grantaire, helping him sit up enough to take the water as he peels off the lid.

"What's this?" He asks, looking down at the.. pastries?

Grantaire sips at the water then takes one out, "empanadas," he says over a bite.

"You made me empanadas?"

"Did you think I was gonna make you hamburger helper or something?" Grantaire chuckles, "Get a clue, Ejernlas."

He smiles a little, taking one and trying it out, "Enjolras."

"That's what I said."

"Drink your water, then go to sleep before you pass out in your food."

Grantaire sticks his tongue out but manages to finish the water and the empanada before falling asleep on the couch. Enjolras grabs a pillow and spare blanket and makes him as comfortable as possible, putting another three glasses of water out by him just in case. He'll probably have a bomb of a headache tomorrow morning regardless, but it's better than nothing.

He ends up falling asleep in the living room chair that night. Just in case.

\---

Of course when he wakes up his phone has nearly blown up with messages and calls. Joly told Combeferre who mentioned it when Courfeyrac called who then told Jehan and Bahorel who happened to tell Feuilly and Jehan freaked out with Marius who told Cosette who was the bulk of his messages, honestly, but he knows it's coming from a good place.

And then there's one odd number that's not in his phone, so he calls that one back first just in case.

"Hello?"

"Hi?"

"Um, who is this?"

"Eponine, who is this?"

"Enjolras--"

"Fuck it's you!" he winces at her volume, "What fucking shitshow did you get R into last name?"

"R?"

"Grantaire, your fakeass boyfriend!"

Fuck. "You can spread around that it's fake--"

"Bitch, I don't even know your friends. He’s the one who told me. Now tell me how he is doing and stop worrying about yourself for once or so help me--"

"He's sleeping still. He's on my couch and he's sleeping. He had a martini, two tequila shots, two fingers of whiskey, and some wine. I got him to drink a bottle and a glass of water before he went to sleep. Now, how did you even get my number?"

There's a silence as she processes the information. "Marius."

"Marius? Seriously?"

"Well, Cosette, but I know Cosette through Marius."

"Ah," he makes a note to call her next. "Now, are you satisfied? I'll return him in the best shape I possibly can."

"You fucking better, golden boy. Call me if anything else happens."

And she hangs up.

Enjolras sighs a long, long sigh then stands, finally changing out of his suit from last night and into something a helluva lot more comfortable before starting breakfast (more like brunch). He calls Cosette while he's rifling through the fridge.

"Since I didn't receive any calls from the hospital last night, I'm going to assume you're doing okay now."

"Yeah, Grantaire's just sleeping, I'm making eggs," he explains as he pads around the kitchen in a big sweater and boxers.

"Please don't burn the house down while he's sleeping."

"I'll do my best," he chuckles as he fires up the stovetop. "So. Eponine."

"Ah."

"Tell me, sister dearest, why did you give her my number?"

"Well," she gives a coy pause that Enjolras doesn't trust for a second, "she's a friend of mine and Marius and she rooms with Grantaire. Of course she was concerned when she heard."

"And why did she hear?"

"Because she's friend with me, Marius, and Grantaire! That's a perfectly acceptable reason to inform her she might be called to the hospital soon, as Grantaire's emergency contact."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Fine," he says as he starts cracking eggs, "Well we're both doing okay now, so I think the 23 messages was a little excessive."

"Don't act for a second like you wouldn't do the same damn thing, Enjolras. You'd probably do twice that."

"My record stands at 21, you have me beat," He smiles into the phone as the pan starts to sizzle.

"We'll see. Now go let everyone else know you two are okay and finish making breakfast safely for your fake-boyfriend."

"Can you all not call him that? It sounds weird--"

"See you!"

He smiles a bit when he hears the phone hang up.

"Who was that?"

He turns and smiles at Grantaire in the open doorway.

"Just my sister, Cosette. News spread quickly last night. How are you feeling?" he asks gently.

Grantaire gives a rueful smile as he comes into the kitchen, "Like someone ran over my face with a truck, but yaknow," he shrugs. "I didn't know you were Cosette's brother."

"Half-brother, but, yeah."

"I went wedding dress shopping with her and Eponine a couple weeks ago," Grantaire explains, going to fill another glass of water, "Got anything for the pounding headache?"

Enjolras opens a drawer at the side then attends to the eggs. "Cosette has good taste, I'd trust her to pick out her own dress."

"Yes, but moral support is always helpful," he says as he opens the bottle and downs probably a few more than recommended.

"So," Grantaire starts a little awkwardly, "May I ask?"

"Ask what?"

"How you two are...?"

Enjolras chuckles, "Yeah, I know. So," he explains as he plates the eggs and goes looking for bagels, "we're half-siblings, same dad, but while her mom was white, mine is black and Filipino."

"Ah."

"Mm."

"Haitian and Cuban."

"Ah."

"Mm."

They settle into comfortable silence after that as they eat breakfast. The ibuprofen kicks in gradually as Grantaire seems more awake and present. Not too long after they've started though, there's a knock on the door.

"That's probably one of many concerned parties come to make sure I haven't accidentally killed you yet," Enjolras mutters as he gets up to answer the door and sure enough, Jehan, Ferre, and Courf are all there.

"How is he?" Jehan immediately asks, striding purposefully into the apartment and scowering the rooms, "I heard you didn't call an ambulance so I'm worried."

"I will have you know, he has a great bedside manner and adheres stringently to the standard of care," Grantaire half-calls out from the kitchen, not really up for loud noises yet.

Jehan has a dramatic gasp when he finds him, pulling him into a tight hug. "How are you feeling?" He asks as he strokes his hair like a sad puppy.

Grantaire kind of melts into the embrace because Jehan is officially the best hugger out of all of them, "I'm alright. Fatigued in the truest definition."

He kisses his forehead and smiles at Grantaire, "Well you are safe now, your boyfriend is here to take care of you as are all your friends here, so don't worry. If you just want to rest, that's fine."

From his place in the living room, Enjolras can see emotions flicker over Grantaire's face through the cutout connecting to the kitchen, but he can't place them.

They decide to spend that Saturday all strewn around Enjolras' living room, eventually more are invited till basically it's a meeting with everyone all over again as they start marathoning movies and someone calls in pizza. Grantaire grumbles a bit about having to finish his art piece but gladly stays, still pretty exhausted from the night before especially when Enjolras has comfortable couches and blankets. Their friends not so subtly move so they can have one of the bigger chairs to themselves by the time they're all there.

In the middle of the third superhero movie, Enjolras finds himself scooting in with Grantaire, who's near asleep again. He moves over as much as possible, but that still leaves Enjolras' legs a bit tangled around his.

He normally wouldn't be this physically close to any of his friends, he isn't exactly one for touching. But if anyone was to be that exception, it'd be Grantaire, he figures. This is what boyfriends do, and it's an awkward position sandwiched in the chair not built for two, but Grantaire doesn't seem to mind, he's still half-asleep watching the Iron Man speed through the sky. So maybe this is normal, normal for boyfriends and normal for people in general--

Grantaire makes eye contact with him and he hadn't realized he'd been staring.

They're both a little caught in the headlights when Grantaire whispers to him, "You doing okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he gives a tentative smile.

Grantaire looks at him a long while, studying his face for a moment, then flashing a bit of a smile, the edges of his canines just poking out as he extricates himself from under Enjolras and heads to the kitchen.

Well that was awkward.

After a moment, he pulls himself up from the couch and heads to the kitchen, trying to make it not look as though he's chasing after him.

Grantaire stands by the sink, downing a glass of water.

"Hey, everything okay?" Enjolras asks casually as he goes to the cupboard, pulling out a bag of chips.

"Yeah, I'm just gonna get going," he gives him a quick smile, finishing off the glass. "I'll see you Tuesday, yeah?"

Enjolras isn't surprised necessarily, but something feels a little off. Either way, he smiles, "Date number two, Tuesday. But call Monday, 2:11 PM, right?"

"Fuck, right, you're at lunch with Jehan?"

"Mhm," he hums as he finishes pouring the chips in a bowl and puts the bag away.

"Monday call, Tuesday date, got it. I'll see you then."

"Actually--" Grantaire's face is close, like before, studying him. It catches him off guard but he recovers more quickly this time, briefly coughing, flashing a smile to diffuse tension, "Actually, let me walk you home. I'd just feel more comfortable making sure you got back safe."

Grantaire blinks, taken aback. "Oh, well, um," he obviously wasn't expecting that. "I take the bus, so, you'll be waiting a bit."

"That's fine, it's a nice enough night," he says as he leaves the kitchen.

"You really don't have to, Enjolras," Grantaire says, thankfully lowering his volume, as he follows him out.

He shakes his head, already grabbing his coat and speaking to the group, "I'm walking Grantaire home, don't destroy my apartment in the mean time." Everyone mumbles some kind of response, Jehan loudly telling them to be safe. Enjolras is already holding the door open for him by the time he's resigned to his fate, tugging on his coat and heading out the door.

There's silence as they walk down the stairs and onto the street. It sits in the cool night air till they're at the bus stop, sitting by the yellowed fluorescent advertisements.

"I'm sorry that, um," Grantaire starts, scratching at the back of his neck, "I fucked up, basically--

"You were drugged by a fucking creep who should go to jail. Grantaire," he fixes him with his sure stare, "it's alright."

"No, no, before that too," he shakes his head, "with--um--with lunch."

_Oh right_. "It's okay," he says, because he doesn't want to make him feel bad after he was ruffied and all.

"It's not, but, thanks for trying to reassure me," he chuckles, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I'll make it up to you. I'll be a great fake serious boyfriend and surprise you, no charge, okay?" he looks at him with an earnest, hopeful smile, and Enjolras just can't crush that.

"Sure, okay," though he's anything but.

The bus comes soon after that, and the ride to Grantaire's place is only about 15 minutes. For a second, Grantaire makes a motion to take his hand or something but quickly aborts it. He pretends not to notice because he won't say he's disappointed. This whole boyfriend thing is just a business transaction, obviously.

Grantaire's apartment isn't exactly on the nice side of town, or even the safe side of town, but Enjolras doesn't say anything about it as they come to the stop and Grantaire hops off. He can't help but look around as they walk a block, noticing the bottles strewn around the curb, what may or may not be used needles here and there. He sees people loitering around a few blocks over and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't put on edge by them, not with the way they're eyeing his bright red jacket.

Grantaire stops outside an apartment complex though and turns to him, "Well this is me."

"You'll be alright from here?"

He rolls his eyes, "I was alright the whole way over, you really didn't have to come."

"I'm still glad I did."

"Hm," he makes a non-commital sound and half-smiles. "Well thank you for being ever the gentleman, I'll see you later Enjolras," and with that he disappears inside.

\---

The phone call comes as it's supposed to, while Enjolras is getting lunch with Jehan, who gives him a knowing wink when he picks up Grantaire's call. Enjolras makes up whatever replies he wants Jehan to hear as Grantaire ramblings about his paintings. He knows this particular phone call isn't the best time to discuss how Grantaire's working on an allegoricalpiece a la Moreau and Schiele, but by the end of it he realizes he would actually be interested in seeing what Grantaire gets up to.

Their second date is much less scary than the first, no weirdos trying to sexually assault either of them. As they sit at coffee right by the library Combeferre works at, they actually start talking about themselves. Grantaire references his art school days and his many feelings about Bernini and Canova. Enjolras mentions the firm and his usual shift at the local homeless shelter.

It isn't until a few more fake dates in that the politics come out like a sword unsheathed and getting along becomes more of a struggle.

It's at a Musain meeting, of all places, where they're discussing their current activist measure, trying to stage a rally for racial injustice in the court systems. Four federal judges for districts with majority citizens of color were replaced with all white crusty old men. They all know it's a bad idea. Every racial coalition in the area knows it's a bad idea. So now they sit around the long table in the top level of the Musain, Enjolras is speaking at length about th eimportance of getting permits for the rally with the other organizations because coalition building ! while Grantaire looks noticeably disinterested. When the fifteenth minute rolls around of yet another Enjolrasian rant, Grantaire loudly scoffs, stands and crosses to Musichetta at the bar.

And everyone notices.

Enjolras even falters for a second before he finishes up his speech quickly, with as much tact as possible, and letting general conversation resume among their friends.

"You're staring," Combeferre observes, gently.

Enjolras actually wasn't aware he was boring holes into the back of Grantaire's head with his eyes, but he snaps out of it and smiles at Combeferre after that.

"Sorry."

Combeferre simply shrugs, "It's not my place to get involved, I just wanted to make sure you were aware."

Enjolras appreciates that about Combeferre, but he knows this isn't so simple, "That was rather rude of him."

"He strikes me as a person who's rough around the edges, but then again, you can be rather rude as well," he says, nonplussed.

The blonde smiles a little to pretend Grantaire's behavior is a non-issue, something they've already spoken about in their "relationship," but he knows Combeferre knows him a bit too well for that. Thankfully, he doesn't actually seem suspicious of anything, as he carefully flips through a worn copy of the dictionary with a pen as he often does during periods of down time at meetings.

"Excuse me," Enjolras says as he stands, making his way to the bar and sliding into the seat next to Grantaire.

Musichetta smiles at him, her golden hijab looking stunning in the warm cafe light against her sleek black dress. "Now you don't often sit up here with me, my dear Enjolras."

"Well I'm just not in the mood for big speeches at the table tonight," he says easily. "Just coffee, please."

Grantaire is doodling on a napkin next to him, obviously rolling his eyes but at least pretending to be engrossed in his drawing.

"So," Enjolras starts, turning to him as his fingers lightly tap the natural wood counter. "You have some opinions about my speech?"

Grantaire scoffs, a smile tugging by his crooked canines, then he pockets the napkin. "Not at all."

"Excuse me?" He raises an eyebrow, a bit of a warning.

"I have no opinions of my own, I told you I was a nihilist, after all."

"I thought you were joking, honestly."

"Why would I bother with a joke like that?"

His coffee comes then, and he thanks Musichetta and takes a long sip.

"Look," Grantaire continues, "I'm sorry, I won't be so obvious with my disagreement next time. Alright?"

When Musichetta and everyone else is out of earshot, he turns to Grantaire and says in hushed tones, "I'm not paying you for your actual political opinions, you're only as useful as you are convincing them that we are in a solid, committed relationship. This is what I do, sucks if I offend your 'nihilism.'" And with that he stands and takes his coffee back to his original seat with Combeferre.

And that was theoretically the end of that.

Until next week's meeting, when it wasn't.

-

Grantaire started off with a drink (they'd still set the limit at 2 maximum over the meeting, though Grantaire protested, saying that he could keep his liquor better than that) as he sat in the corner this time, sitting with Jehan and Bossuet and a big sketchpad thathe seemed engrossed in. As Enjolras spoke and speechified throughout the evening, he was a bit disappointed to not have Grantaire's attention, but really, he figured it could be worse.

It's at the near-end of his last rant that he hears Jehan and Bossuet giggling, however, and he knows that's not a good sign. He finishes up nonetheless and pointedly does not go over for a bit, electing instead to discuss at length with Feuilly and Courfeyrac the local labor reform efforts. After they'd all graduated, this group was a way for them to keep their activist side going strong amidst their day jobs and graduate schools. It's been going strong for years with the same core members, and while everyone's had their significant other filter in and out here and there, Grantaire is still very much an outsider. No matter how much he might seem to get along with everyone.

Later in the evening, so as not to look too conspicuous, he sits down at Grantaire's little sidetable where Jehan and Bossuet are still talking to him, about something artsy, without a doubt. (Enjolras has never been gifted in this department) Grantaire flashes a smile at him, closing his sketchbook casually before Enjolras can see, before turning back to the conversation. Enjolras slips his hand into Grantaire's and gives it a light squeeze like they do this often, but it's more of a "We'll talk." than anything else.

They leave the Musain together, hand in hand in the dark night.

"Glad you found my speech more amusing this time around."

Grantaire rolls his eyes and removes his hand from Enjolras' to grab a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, "Yep."

There's a silence.

"Look, I don't understand why you're making fun of what I do. I fight for damn good causes."

"Oh certainly, you do," Grantaire agrees.

"So what's wrong with that?" Enjolras asks in a raised voice, exasperated with the man walking next to him.

"Nothing, Enjolras," he looks at him, green eyes sincere. "Really, it's not you. It's not your cause."

He stops walking now, "Then what is it?"

Grantaire stops too, letting smoke pool around in the space between them, shifting his weight from food to foot because he's not sure how to answer this tactfully. "Um," he makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, "it's the futility."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Enjolras asks as he narrows his eyes.

"You guys will hold your protests and your rallies and none of it is going to make a difference save for getting you all roughed up a bit. People have been protesting and staging coups for ages, and we still live in a shithole with every -ism you can think of."

"That erases all of the progress those protesters have made."

"Because they've made no progress and neither will you!"

Enjolras is surprised Grantaire yelled. Grantaire looks like he's surprised he yelled too.

"Sorry," he says finally. "Sorry, I won't," he shakes his head, "I won't bother you with my shitty opinions. Good luck with your rally, Enjolras," he says as he walks in another direction, presumably home.

\---

Grantaire actually goes to the bar that night.

Once Grantaire's politics are out in the open (moreso than before at least) Enjolras loses the ability to play nice. It is officially a business transaction from that point forward, even friendship seems off the table now if he doesn't even respect what Enjolras wants to do with his life. Any "extra hours" like going to a bar with his friends is quickly sidestepped and deflected by Enjolras in conversation. This is what they agreed to in the first place. Compartmentalization.

Grantaire seems to get the hint pretty quickly and stops his ridiculous side comments during meetings, electing instead to get drunk and draw in the corner.

It's fine. He's entertained and they can sit together afterwards and put on enough fo a show that it looks halfway natural, like they're just enamored with each other.

All other aspects of the plan are going along swimmingly. On the nights Grantaire stays over, he figures out his own food and sleeps on the couch. A few times he'd make a comment about Enjolras' Voltaire anthology or his Philippics. It ended in debates that turned to arguments that turned to cutting battles of insults that left them both frigid and struggling to keep the farce up the next day. So Grantaire doesn't make those comments anymore and Enjolras stops walking him home.

And yeah, it's not ideal. It's not even pleasant, but he can survive it for 3 more weeks. He keeps reminding himself it'll all pay off in the end, whatever uncomfortableness there is now will be gone soon enough and he'll never see Grantaire again. It'll be easy.

And that's when he receives a call.

"Grantaire, what do you want?" He asks, terse, as he sits on the couch re-annotating his copy of a Robespierre biography

"Um, look, I'm--uh--really, really fucking sorry about this--"

"Grantaire?"

"And I would never be calling if it wasn't--like, yeah--if it wasn't serious shit. Like complete last resort--I'm so sorry--"

He sits up straighter, "Grantaire what is this about?"

"My apartment.. it got shut down and is going to be fumigated for a few weeks."

-

And that is how Grantaire finds himself in Enjolras apartment with a duffel bag of shit and little else.

 

"You know where the kitchen, living room, and bathroom are," Enjolras says as he leads him to the other side of the apartment, "there's also my office which will work as the guest room, and then my room," he points to the door next to it.

"Again, I’m' really sorry--"

"Grantaire, you can't control it, it's fine," he says a little sharper than he intends.

Grantaire had explained how Eponine, his roommate, was staying with her ex-girlfriend, who Grantaire may or may not have beef with.

"Her apartment isn't that big to begin with, and she used to sell me drugs," he'd explained over Chinese takeout on Enjolras' sofa, "and we may have slept together while I was high as a kite. To pay for more drugs."

Enjolras had nodded along very slowly, "So you prostituted yourself to your roommate’s ex-girlfriend drug dealer for more drugs."

Grantaire smiled, "We can't all live such charmed lives as you, my dear Apollo. Besides, not crashing on Montparnasse's floor is something my old sober-coach would've congratulated me for, look at me making good decisions."

"You had a sober-coach?"

"This was back when I went to fancy university that would pay for shit like that," Grantaire shrugged.

Enjolras had been silent for a while after that. "If you bring drugs in here--"

"I wouldn't, Enjolras." He said seriously.

"Okay."

\---

They make his bed with an airmattress and Enjolras' old twin sheets from college in the corner of the office. That way, in case friends stop by, they can take it down and pretend they sleep together. But it certainly doesn't take much time before everyone seems to know.

"How's living with Grantaire?" Cosette had asked him over the phone during his usual phone call.

THat's when he knew it wouldn't take long before--

"You two living together, it's too sweet, I'm so happy all that space in your apartment is finally going to use, it was nearly a travesty before," Jehan had smiled at lunch.

"Living together as a couple changes you, Enjolras," Courf had taunted, "You'll see."

"If you start sharing a toothbrush, I will be forced to burn all your toiletries to sanitize them, just so you know," Joly had calmly explained.

"Shit," Feuilly whistled, "So by serious you really meant serious."

By the meeting in the Musain, everyone had known.

So when they show up together, their fingers just barely tangled, they can feel eyes all on them. THings are already tense. Strike one.

The rally is next week too, which maeans this meeting makes all the more difference. But whle Enjolras desperately needs to talk about the logistics of this project for his own sanity, everyone else is infinitely mor einterested in discussing the intricacies of their domesticity. Strike two.

And the final spark of the dynamite stick this meeting is becoming is when Grantaire cannot seem to help multiple scoffs at the draft of Enjolras' rallying speech. Strike three.

"Do you have something you'd like to share, Grantaire?" Enjolras snaps.

"Nothing of interest, Fearless Leader," he says not looking up from his sketchbook.

"If you don't want to be here, no one is forcing you."

"You know I love basking in your light, Apollo."

"Stop calling me that," his voice starts to escalate.

"Well you look like a Greek god and you think you're so much above all us mortals."

"Since when do I do that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Grantaire says sarcastically as he puts the sketchbook down, "maybe when you, come in as the fancy lawyer, going to tell all these people who live in neighborhoods you haven't even driven through how to do their activism."

"That's not what's going on at all--"

"Isn't it though? It's not like your kumbayah mentality is going to fix all their problems you know!"

"I'm not trying to magically fix their problems, I'm promoting discourse!"

"Exactly," Grantaire huffs. "Just talking because action needs more than some bright-eyed college grads."

"Well I don't see you actually being useful! If you’re just going to sit around wasting space, I suggest you do it somewhere else!"

There's a beat after that. Then Grantaire stands, packs up his sketching materials, and leaves.

Enjolras seems to deflate back into his seat once he leaves the room. He avoids everyone's prodding looks for the rest of the night.

\---

Grantaire doesn't come home that night and Enjolras forces himself not to wait up.

He stumbles home 10 AM the next morning when Enjolras is out for work. By the time he gets back, Grantaire is sleeping on the couch, the smell of stale alcohol all over him.

They don't talk about it.

For the next few days it's as if tundra had settled over the apartment, with each of them carefully avoiding the other in an elaborate pseudo-waltz. Enjolras takes his time to decide what to do, while Grantaire isn't sure how to broach the subject from any angle. Their posessions are nearly entirely separate which makes it easier to avoid one another entirely, and even when they do share a room together, it's completely silent. All subsequent dates are assumedly cancelled, and Grantaire lives almost entirely in his small room, only leaving for the necessities like pop-tarts and art supplies whle ENjolras now has an excuse to immerse himself in his work.

Eventually they do talk about is the plan from here-on-out, which has officially changed. The argument was a good opportunity to say they're taking a break, and then in a couple more weeks they can break up, simply, logically. All that meant was Grantaire would have to avoid Enjolras a bit around friends, as easily said as done.

Enjolras doesn't discuss it with Grantaire, but casually informs him over cereal, "You still have plans with my friends throughout this week right? I want you to refer to me as though you're not sure if we're going to break up or not, but you're equally upset with me as I am seemingly with you."

Grantaire looks up from his bowl of frosted flakes. This is the first time they've spoken since the argument. "Seemingly?"

"As they understand it," Enjolras ignores his question, "I should take it personally that you kept your politics relatively secret throughout our relationship only for them to differ so greatly."

"Only seem though?" Grantaire asks again, a blank expression on his face as his spoon is frozen halfway between his bowl and mouth.

"Well it's not like you're actually my boyfriend that I'd be offended."

 "Right," Grantaire says quietly, then continues eating. "Fine, consider it done."

"And then we'll break up in another couple weeks," Enjolras says simply, finishing off his cereal and drinking the remaining soy milk from the bowl. "I'll let you know later." And with that, he leaves for work without another word.

Through work, Enjolras reminds himself this is just all a part of the plan. This headache is almost over and then--

His phone rings, a synthpop remix that he knows is Jehan, in the middle of the office. He frowns but knows none of his friends would try to call him if it weren't an emergency, so while Bahorel, Courf, and Marius all shoot him questioning looks, he ducks out as inconspicuously as possible and heads down to the lobby.

"Jehan?" He answers.

"Enjolras, don't fuck this up."

"What?" He gapes on the line.

"I'm with Grantaire now, are you two seriously going to break up over this nonsense?"

_Fuck_. He exhales through his nose, "I don't know, honestly.." trying to sound sincere.

"Holy shit, Enjolras, you were actually thinking of it weren't you!" He accuses and Enjolras huffs in frustration.

"Look, I--"

"No," Jehan cuts in. Then there's a sigh on the line, "I think you're making a huge mistake. You should be fighting to keep Grantaire right now, honey."

"And why should I?" He says, voice rising. "The man's a drunk who has no respect for my politics. What good is he to me?"

"Enjolras, did you seriously start dating Grantaire in the first place because you thought he agreed with your politics?"

There's a long enough pause that tells Jehan everything he needs to know, so he continues, "You seriously have no idea how much this man is in love with you, do you?"

He coughs in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You are already so... _you_. You don't need someone else like you, you need someone who challenges and grounds you, not polarizes you even more. Or did you forget that's why we wanted to set you up in the first place?"

"Grantaire just enrages me," Enjolras says, a bit quieter than usual.

Jehan snorts over the line, "Yeah okay."

"He does," he can't help the slight whine in his voice.

"Then I ask you again, why did you start dating him in the first place if you seriously just disliked him as you allege right now?"

They'd only half-figured out this lie. Of course, they'd talked about how they "met" and all when Grantaire first met his friends, but this wasn't that question.

There's a long pause on Enjolras' side before he quietly says, "He was clever and funny."

"Your boyfriend is also warm and loving and kind, and I shouldn't have to explain this to you. Apologize to him, because he's too good for your ass no matter how strong your perfect hair game might be."

The phone hangs up after that.

Enjolras considers throwing it at the wall but he does need it for work, so...

 

"Enjolras, we're heading out, you coming?" Bahorel asks as the usual group passes his cubicle once 5PM rolls around on the Friday afternoon.

He looks over the paper in his hands, then up to Bahorel. "Sure," he decides, grabbing his things quickly as Bahorel raises an eyebrow but smirks.

They go the Musain but stay on its first floor. It’s the weekend officially now, so they’ve started up the music and it’s packed as an actual bar where they meet with Joly, Bossuet, and Feuilly a few minutes after they get there. When they're all crowded together at a table, elbows knocking and shoulders pressed together as they're piled in still wearing their nice suits, the waitress asks their order and Enjolras doesn't even think when he answers tequila.

"Whoa," Courf says immediately, "Didn't realize you even drank that."

"First time for everything," Enjolras shrugs sandwiched between Feuilly and Joly.

"Is this because of the shit with the boo?" Bossuet asks with a smile on Joly's other side.

"Hardly," he scoffs.

"You're a horrible liar," Feuilly says matter-of-factly.

"If I want to drink, I can drink," he frowns.

"Certainly," Courf shrugs, "You just haven't drank in nearly as long as you haven't dated before Grantaire. You can't blame us if it seems a little related."

"There are plenty of times I've drank."

The whole table side-eyes at that.

"The last time you drank was champagne when we all graduated," Joly says, holding up a finger. "One, singular glass of champagne."

"Tequila will green your gills," Bahorel laughs. "I'm not holding your hair back when you can't keep it down."

As if to prove the point, when the waitress comes with their drinks, Enjolras immediately downs it and orders another as she leaves. The table all exchanges looks again but no one comments.

As far as Enjolras is concerned, he needs it. In his fancy suit and designer shoes, he takes tequila shots because tonight is not a classy drinking night. So he puts his liver through the loop as he talks with his friends. Random girls and boys toss their numbers his way, but he shrugs them off, his mind a buzz like a heavy swerve of techno music, a little too frantic for him to keep track of his thoughts and his body and them. The room was already a little spinny after the first shot, but his head feels full of cotton by this point, like he's on a tilt-o-whirl and the floor keeps shifting whenever he stands, his peripheral vision long gone, now the point of clarity and cognitive processing seems even more pinholed.

Bahorel takes videos of his drunk social justice rants (they're really to die for) where he's sat up on one of the tables, critiquing the lack of understanding of sex-based oppression in labor class models of social organization--

He's slurring by his third shot and gesticulating pretty wildly, they figure yeah, time to head home before he tries to start a revolution in the bar. It's a struggle, but they manage to pile him in to a cab and Joly and Bossuet take him home, nearly carrying him as they climb the steps to the apartment.

"Do you have your keys on you?" Joly asks with Enjolras clinging to Bossuet's side to stand.

"Mmmyeah?" he says, slurring, then starts to dig through his pockets as inefficiently as possible.

Bossuet sighs, "Is Grantaire home?" He asks, and while Enjolras is about to protest, he's already knocking on the door. "Grantaire! We have something of yours."

Enjolras just frowns because the damage is done, and a moment later, Grantaire opens the door in boxer shorts and a t-shirt.

"What are--?"

"Enjolras is shitfaced, can you handle him or would you rather we stay?" Joly explains matter-of-factly.

"Um? Sure?" Grantaire hesitates. "I mean, yeah, I guess."

Bossuet hands him over, and he nearly stumbles into Grantaire because really, someone needs to shut off the floor so it stays in one place.

"Come on, I got you," Grantaire sighs as Joly quickly explains how to take care of drunkjolras and hands him a scrap of paper with his number in case anything goes wrong, as if Grantaire wasn't a veteran at this kind of thing.

Enjolras just kind of hums goodbye as they leave and Grantaire manages to pull him into his own apartment.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" He asks slowly, hands on both his arms to keep him steady.

"I'm fine," he nearly yells, and that's answer enough.

Grantaire sighs. "Come on, sit down and I'll get you water. Montparnasse was just leaving anyways," he says as he leads him down to sit on the couch.

_Wait_. _Wait_. "Wait, no," Enjolras blinks as he follows. "Wait what? Wait, wait."

"What is it--?"

"Montparnasse?" Enjolras asks, trying to blink away the drunk fuzziness in his mind so he can process.

"Yeah?" He hears a new voice in his living room.

His snaps his head in that direction, frowning at the lithe woman sitting in one of the chairs. She has short, short dark hair and tight black pants with leather stilettos. Her ears are decked in plugs and piercings and she has tattoos on her fingers and creeping up above her collar. She's got a leather tie and a black glittered blazer with fucking spikes the shoulders. There's a masculine power to her and she sits like she owns the place. Dominant. Demanding.

"Ostentatious," he says without thinking because drunkJolras has no filter to speak of and likes big words.

She barks a laugh and he decides he doesn't like her voice, frowning like a petulant child.

"Parnasse, you should go," Grantaire says, already exasperated with the two of them.

"Is this the chick you fucked for drugs?" Enjolras asks, because he has no tact to speak of either.

Grantaire sighs while Montparnasse bursts out laughing, "Shit I really like this one, R. You know how to pick a good sugar daddy."

"What the fuck are you--!"

"Damnit, Montparnasse, can you just get going already!" Grantaire cuts in.

She shrugs and stands in a fluid motion. "Call me again sometime," she says as she heads for the door. "This was fun," she winks and leaves.

After the door shuts, Grantaire takes a deep breath and scrubs his hands over his face, "Dios mio."

Enjolras sits on the sofa glaring at him with an immature pout.

"What?" Grantaire asks finally, sitting on the opposite side of it.

"Why was she here?" He's trying to articulate but his speech is still slow.

"Can I get you some water firs--"

"Why was she in our apartment?" he presses.

Grantaire deflates against the couch. "It's not what you think," he starts carefully. "I wasn't fucking her and I wasn't getting high, that's not why she was here."

"So why then?"

Grantaire frowns, "I hadn't heard from Eponine in a while so I thought I'd ask Montparnasse to check up on her. Parnasse was in the area for god knows what fucking reason and decided to stop by instead of talk over the phone. By the time you came in, she'd only been here maybe 10 minutes tops."

Enjolras just stares at the couch frowning now.

Grantaire rolls his eyes and gets up, "I'm getting you water," he declares, "And a bowl."

When he returns, Enjolras takes the glass without much protest and holds the bowl on his lap as Grantaire sits in front of him on the coffee table.

"How you feelin', cariño?"

Enjolras is quiet for a moment. "She's really pretty."

"Hm?"

He burps a little. "Parnasse."

Grantaire shrugs, "In a scary way, yeah, I guess."

"I can see why you like her," he says, eyes fixed on the bowl as he takes slow sips of water.

"I don't like her, Enjolras," Grantaire chuckles, "You almost sound jealous. Look, we fucked once when we were both too high to know the difference between each other and like, a fucking bear or something. And she's dating Eponine now, anyways. Like, not fake dating, they're actually trying to make something work."

"I want to make something work," Enjolras says quietly, then burps again.

Grantaire sits up a bit more and reaches forward, brushing his bangs from his face. "Come on, talk to me. How are you doing?"

Enjolras blinks hard and shakes his head, "Not too good."

"Do you think you can make it to the bathroom?"

He makes a whining sound and goes to sip more water before aborting the motion.

"Enj?"

"If you help, maybe."

They manage to shamble to the bathroom and then Enjolras is down on his knees and dumping the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl. Grantaire sighs and crouches next to him, setting the glass of water beside him. He rubs his back as he finishes up, shivering and tired and his stomach in knots.

"That was wretched, how do people get drunk like this normally?" He mutters as he rests his head on the toilet seat.

Grantaire smiles, still rubbing circles, "See, when you get good at being drunk, you build up a tolerance so this doesn't happen too often."

"Three tequila shots," he mutters as he closes his eyes.

"Jesus Christ, why would you do that, Enjolras?" he asks.

Enjolras opens his mouth to respond-- then promptly vomits more.

It is a damn long night where Grantaire fetches him more water, rubs his back and sits with him through the whole painful thing. If he wasn't tired and sleepy before, he is bone-exhausted at the end and despite coaxing decides to just sleep on the cool bathroom tile. Grantaire sits with him through that too. Just in case.

When he wakes up, his head is in Grantaire's lap and he's carding fingers through his hair, not paying much attention.

"Hey," he says with a bit of a smile. His hand stops moving.

Enjolras makes a disgruntled sound and closes his eyes again. Grantaire chuckles and continues. "Look, I know you're probably not in the mood, but can I ask something?"

He makes a considering sound.

"Can I ask why you got blackout drunk last night?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Woops, too late."

Enjolras sighs and cracks an eye open, looking up at him. "It seemed like the thing to do."

Grantaire stares at him. "Okay, that literally makes no sense and I deserve better than a cop out answer."

He sighs again, closing his eyes, "Yeah, you do. Basically, we're kinda fucked."

"Elaborate."

"Look, Grantaire," Enjolras sits up with a bit of a struggle, but sits up nonetheless. "They like you. They fucking love you, more than I pretend to even. So, we've got a couple more weeks to finish this up once and for all."

Grantaire raises an eyebrow as Enjolras looks at him seriously.

"If you pretend to be the biggest douchebag, then they'll let me break up with you."

He gives him a tight smile, "Sure. Whatever you need me to do."

Enjolras gives a starched nod and pulls himself up off the bathroom floor. "I'll tell you more over eggs and a hangover cure."


	2. Formidable

The new plan is officially to get them all to hate Grantaire so they nearly beg Enjolras to break up with him. He writes down systematically all the hang-ups of his friends and gives Grantaire the list and the dates, puts it in an excel sheet even. He has it down to a science almost, and at least now the air between them is clear again and they don't waltz around avoidant.

The first on the list is Combeferre, since it's straightforward. Grantaire makes sure to sit next to him during the next Musain meeting, as Enjolras extrapolates on some point or another, Grantaire strikes up basic conversation.

"So I never hear you do any big speeches," he says off-handedly.

Combeferre shrugs, scratching a note in his book, "Not my forte."

"I doubt that."

"Really," he glances up. "Besides, someone needs to find the effective, germane, research, and Enjolras would rather quote Robespierre and Saint-Juste than focus on the studies and the recent facts. So that's my place, and I fill it gladly."

"Come on, I'm sure you a great speaker when--"

He goes to set his glass down but instead it spills all over the open book.

"Shit!" And that's the first time nearly anyone's heard Combeferre swear like that.

Too late though, the pages are soaked with red wine. He grabs napkins and tries to dry it, but the stain's already set.

"Woops," Grantaire says with a shrug, then heads to the bar to get more wine while Combeferre gapes at him. Step 1: Success.

\---

Next, Courfeyrac, because if they get the Guide and the Centre, it's easiest from there. The next day, he's working at the museum and Courf stops by. Once he'd said he worked there, all of their friends of course wanted to see, but now putting off it was a helpful decision.

He greets Courf at the door and leads him through the galleries. The museum he works has tall ceilings and lots of light through its open glass interior. He explains how there are thick curtains they can pull around if there are any exhibits that can't have direct light. It's small, refurbished from an old factory, squeezed between skyscrapers now.

"This exhibit is easily my favorite," Grantaire says as he strides purposefully across the hardwood floors, weaving around the different white walls that make up the partitioned space.

"You draw and paint, right? I didn't think you'd be big on photography," Courf says off-handedly as he follows.

"I appreciate beauty wherever I can find it," he shrugs, finally stopping in front of a large photo. "Now this one is definitely my favorite."

"Is.. is that--?"

"Yep."

The infamous Robert Mapplethorpe Fisting photograph.

There's a beat.

"You ever..?" Grantaire looks over at Courfeyrac and he's anything but subtle. "Or would you ever, with..?"

"Something tells me Enjolras might not be on board with that," Courf tries to laugh because this situation is getting kind of weird and--

"Well, he doesn't necessarily have to know."

Courf's eyebrows shoot up at that. He opens his mouth, then closes it. And then the outrage gradually manifests on his face like watching a Muybridge in motion. "That's my goddamn best friend your talking about, you fucking asshole."

And with that he storms out. Step 2: Success.

\---

When Grantaire gets home that night when his shift actually does end, Enjolras is curled up on the couch with some old black and white movie playing, hugging a pillow to his chest as seems to be his favorite position.

Grantaire nearly smiles at the picture of domesticity as he goes to the kitchen and starts up dinner, because of course Enjolras hasn't. The man barely eats even with constant reminders. THe refrigerator is stocked because Grantaire kept nagging him over it and the original rule of keeping food separate soon deteriorated when Enjolras realized Grantaire could cook and Grantaire realized Enjolras' idea of dinner is a cup of easy mac and that's it.

A bit later, he comes out with two plates of rice and curry. "Move your feet, Apollo," he says as he stands by the couch.

Enjolras makes a noise but sits up, taking the plate as he curls up on one side and Grantaire sits on the other.

"What movie?"

"Scaramouche."

"Really?" He asks between bites, "I didn't think you'd be one for black and white films."

"I'm going to assume you don't mean anything specific by that."

Grantaire chuckles, "Wouldn't dream of it. Is this a favorite?"

"I watch it more often than one should, yes."

"But not a favorite?" He asks, because Enjolras is very specific with his language.

He shrugs, shoveling more food into his mouth. "Sometimes I focus on the parts I like and other times the ones I hate. It keeps it interesting."

Grantaire smiles a bit. Enjolras sits with his knees up to his chest, his feet just brushing against Grantaire's thigh.

"Scaramouche is what I watch when I win a case," Enjolras says, eyes still fixed on the screen, a bit of a smile peeking through.

"You won a case?" Grantaire looks at him in surprise.

He turns and gives a full, proud smile now, "Almost got a mistrial, but it all worked out."

"Shit, you should have told me or I would've gotten champagne or something."

He shrugs and reaches over, taking Grantaire's usual glass of wine with dinner and takes a sip, "This is fine."

Grantaire smiles a little, "Well in that case, let me also give some good news: the plan with Courf today went quite well."

"Great," Enjolras says after he's drained the glass and sets it down on the coffee table. "I thought about you today and how that was going."

"You thought about me?"

"Something I do often, yes," he says obviously.

"Oh," he says lamely.

Enjolras shrugs, completely oblivious to Grantaire's reaction and keeps watching the movie.

As the movie goes on, Enjolras' legs somehow find their way into Grantaire's lap as his fingers rest against the bones of his ankles. It's familiar and easy though allegedly they're anything but, Enjolras reminds himself just before he dozes off.

\---

The next day is one of those rare moments his boss showed mercy and gave him the day off after finishing up that case. Grantaire's part time job at the museum doesn't start till that afternoon, so they get to groggily mull about the kitchen together, when there's a knock at the door. Enjolras leaves Grantaire to fuddle with the coffee machine as he answers it, still a little bleary-eyed and wishing he was back in bed already.

"I saw the papers," Cosette grins at him, looking spry and bubbling in her chic dress.

"What...?"

"About the case!" She says as she comes into the apartment, holding up said paper with a huge headline about his victory, a picture of Enjolras on the cover.

"Ah," he says, slowly taking it and looking the whole thing over.

"So I came to congratulate you and see how your little scheme was going."

"It's not a scheme," he says, still more or less skimming the article.

"I'd call it a scheme," Grantaire says, coming in with two cups of coffee, handing off one to Cosette and sipping the other.

"I still dissent."

"Lovely to see you Grantaire, how are you holding up with my ridiculous brother?" She smiles at him, sipping the worn mug.

"It's been absolutely magical," he smiles over the top of his mug.

"Barely," Enjolras snorts as he heads to the kitchen to make himself his own cup.

Once he's out of earshot Grantaire finally sighs, "He's a handful and I'm still as messy as ever."

"I'd expect no less," she giggles. "To be honest, I'm surprised you survived this long."

"That's not the most reassuring."

"He is rough around the edges, certainly. But so are you. I just wasn't sure if your rough edges would match up."

Grantaire shrugs and sips from the mug, "We can play house all we want, but in a couple weeks--that's it."

"My brother doesn't play, Grantaire." She looks up at him a bit serious, a bit of mirthful, "Not when he's letting you walk around in your boxers and use his coffee machine on his day off."

"Cosette.."

"He likes you, he just doesn't realize it yet."

Grantaire just sighs into his coffee mug. Cosette looks him up and down, a little shady smile on her lips again.

"So you haven't showed me any of your work recently."

"Well I haven't seen you lately," Grantaire says, moving over to the couch so they can sit.

She sits in the chair across from him, putting her feet up on the coffee table mostly because she knows it annoys Enjolras and her heels are on point today. "That's not an excuse. You used to send me snapchats of your sketches all the time, now I don’t see a thing."

Grantaire sighs, "I just haven't been making that much lately."

Cosette raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything.

They hold eye contact.

Grantaire groans and reaches around under the table, stacked betweenold editions of the Economist and Jacobin magazine and hands Cosette his sketchbook. It's not too dog-eared or smeared with charcoal so it's pretty new. She sets the coffee down and flips through a couple pages before breaking out into a big grin again.

"Oh, honey--"

"I know," He groans.

"You have got it bad," she smiles at him over the edge of the black book.

"I know."

"What does Grantaire got?" Enjolras asks, coming in from the kitchen with coffee in hand, looking much more awake now.

Grantaire stands and grabs the sketchbook, shutting it quickly, "I've got to get going so I can meet up with Bahorel and Feuilly in time today," and with that his door slams shut.

Enjolras just stares at the door for a moment, then looks at Cosette.

"May I ask?"

"You may not," she tuts.

\---

Grantaire's weird extra talents are proving to be very helpful with this whole operation. He had agreed to go boxing with Bahorel and Feuilly a couple weeks prior, but now that they've switched gears to "boyfriend from hell" it's no longer been something he's been looking forward to. Bahorel is all hard muscle and warm laughs and his beard tickles everyone he hugs. Feuilly on the other hand is more guarded. He works every odd job, has even poured Grantaire a drink at a different bar before, but he's... earnest. That's what Feuilly embodies. He likes them, moral of the story. So no, showing up to boxing for the sole purpose to piss them off isn't how he'd like to be spending his afternoon. And yet..

He shows up to boxing with Bahorel in a fencing outfit, carrying a duffel bag of his gear, his sleek white athletic shoes are in stark contrast to the dirtying mat marked with sweat stains. The place is in a rennovated old machine shop, the garage doors being transferred out for windowed panels with a ring in the middle. It's open and brick and the bags have seen better days but it's like a broken in shoe, well-worn and comfortable.

Bahorel looks over from the bag Feuilly's holding and raises an eyebrow at him. "The fuck, man? You're going to try and box in that?"

"Nah, but I had to head by this place to get home from fencing so I figured I'd just let you know in person that I'm not sparring with you today."

Bahorel raises an eyebrow, his breathing still labored from berating the bag as he speaks, "Why's that? You're here already so you might as well now."

"I’ve got a fencing tournament soon, I'm not gonna bruise myself on a barbarous game like this."

"Barbarous?" He repeats, wiping the sweat from his brow, "THe fuck do you mean by that?"

"I'm not going to waste my time punching idiots in the face when I've got a real sport to worry about," he says as he turns on his heel to leave.

Feuilly scowls from behind the bag and calls after him, "Well fuck you too, Grantaire. You can stick that goddamn foil up your ass!"

Step 3 and 4: Success.

\---

He reminds himself this is just some kind of elaborate prank. It's funny, kind of. Playing a douchebag helps Enjolras at the end of the day, and yeah, it's a little shitty, but it's what he's being paid for. Besides, it's not like they're his friends. He's known them for not even two months, Enjolras has known them for many years. He's the outsider come to serve a purpose. And after this, he reutrns back to his old life, simple enough. His apartment's fumigation ended weeks ago, he just-- It's not that he doesn't mean to mention it to Enjolras, it's just not the major priority. And then he moves back into his apartment and probably won't be able to talk to them all again, but that's fine. That's why it's fun. It's supposed to be fun.

He sighs, lighting up another cigarette out on the tiny balcony of the fire escape while Enjolras falls asleep on the kitchen counter again, laptop out because even on his day off he can't actually take the day off. He blows smoke rings, another weird extra talent he has, and watches them float up into the night sky. The days are fairly warm but the nights are still on the cool side. He comes in a few more minutes later and drapes a blanket from the couch over Enjolras' shoulders. He's not upset necessarily that Enjolras hadn't told him about the case before. It's not like he's obligated to share personal details like that, he just wishes he cared about Grantaire that he wanted to tell him something like that. To Enjolras, he's a means to an end, and he can't bring himself to disagree that he's worth more than that. He lets out a soft sigh before heading to bed to stay up sketching, as usual.

\---

Bossuet and Joly are next on the list, and thankfully, Grantaire's gallery happens to have a small exhibition opening that will be the perfect chance to finish this up once and for all.

As they stand in the small apartment, both working on finishing touches of their suits and ties, Grantaire can't help but watch Enjolras as he fiddles with his cufflink, his hair pushed back, looking particularly golden against the burgundy red of his blazer. Grantaire's already memorized the moles on the side of his face, but he still can't get the freckles quite right--

"Do you need help?" Enjolras asks, making eye contact.

"Hm?"

"With your tie," he's smiling a little and his dimples crinkle.  "Do you need help with your tie? Is that why you're looking at me?"

"Sure," he asnwers mechanically, taking an excuse when it's presented to him.

Enjolras strides over and his fingers graze the sides of Grantaire's neck as he takes the undone tie, setting it just-so around the collar, and starts to knot its simple black silk. Grantaire can see the freckles on his nose against his tan skin and he almost looks golden.

"Is this it?" Grantaire asks, eyes fixed on the wall because it's safer that way.

"What do you mean?" He hums.

"After this, they all hate me and we're done, right? Then you just say you broke up with me and we're good?"

Enjolras nods, "Yep, more or less. After this at least, you don't have to see any of them again."

Grantaire nods slowly, "Can I--" but then he catches himself.

"Can you..?" Enjolras asks, looking up at him as he gives the tie knot one last pull.

"Can I take you on a real date just once?"

Enjolras raises an eyebrow, then pulls away, coughing awkwardly as he goes to grab his wallet, "Sure, I guess. If you want."

"I want to."

"Fine, just let me know when," he gives Grantaire his charming fake smile (Grantaire can tell the difference by now), "Are we good to go now?"

He nods, pulling on his own jacket and heading out the door.

\---

Enjolras actually hasn't been to Grantaire's gallery before. Which is a bit of a travesty, he soon realizes, because Grantaire seems to spring to life amid the paintings and photographs. They keep their hands entwined, fingers light and loose, as Grantaire leads him around explaining a few pieces amidst the well-dressed patrons and other employees. His shift to lead tours doesn't start till a little later in the evening so in the meantime, he enjoys this. The curtains are all open with a view of the city coming in, the good chandeliers have been installed, the nice champagne is going around. It's very swanky, and Grantaire would often feel out of place if it wasn't for how damn good he was at talking art.

"I'm glad to have finally found two of my favorite people are here."

They turn around to greet Cosette over by the Max Ernst painting which Enjolras doesn't quite understand.

"Cosette, you look like a vision as always," Grantaire smiles.

"I do try," she preens. Then in a quieter voice, "Is this part of your elaborate plan as well or are you two actually here as an actual couple?"

Enjolras feigns a hurt look, "I assure you I am whole-heartedly in love with Grantaire."

She swats his arm but he smiles, "I was simply asking a question, no need to be rude."

Grantaire laughs along. Because it's funny, right?

"Yes, this is the final.. thing, of sorts."

"Very articulate," Grantaire quips.

"Excuse you."

Cosette just smiles at them.

Grantaire glances over into the crowd and untangles himself from Enjolras, "It seems your lovely friends have started to congregate and are no doubt saying horrible things about me. I better go exceed their expectations," he smiles as he heads off.

Enjolras turns to Cosette but she's frowning now. "What is it?"

"How are you and Grantaire actually doing?"

"Fine."

"Did he say that?"

Enjolras' eyebrows shoot up at that. "He's going to be paid on time and move back into his apartment on Sunday," he explains cuatiously.

Cosette gives a disgruntled sigh, "I feel like I shouldn't criticize because I helped you with this whole thing, but I do worry about him, Enjolras."

"What's there to worry about?"

"I worry about you too."

"Cosette, why are you worried? Everything is going to plan."

"Your plan," she fixes him with a hard stare, "is fucking both of you over and you don't even realize."

Now he frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

-

By the time Enjolras and Cosette finish their conversation, Cosette going to save Marius from the confusion of modern art, Grantaire has managed to take a sip from Joly's champagne and touch every bit of food on his plate somehow and made a few unamicable jokes about Bossuet's hair. The whole group is frigid and just as Enjolras comes by Jehan speaks up,

"Grantaire, there's a painting I can't remember the name but I want to know more about it. Can I show you?" He asks, making a grabby hand at him which he takes.

"Certainly," he smiles as Jehan pulls him away from the group, leading him up to another, quiter gallery housing an unnoticed side exhibit. SO unnoticed, all the motion-sensor lights are off when they first walk in.

At first, Jehan doesn't say anything, content to walk around the space and simply take in the old sketches mounted on the walls. Which just makes Grantaire a little more anxious about this whole thing in the ensuing silence.

Finally, "So, what game are you playing?"

"Excuse me?"

Jehan sighs, "You're not an asshole, Grantaire, so what's going on?"

"Thank you? But nothing's going on," he says.

Jehan raises an unimpressed eyebrow but doesn't say anything else, just silently walks around looking at different Feininger sketches.

Grantaire lasts about five minutes in the quiet.

"So it does have to do with Enjolras," he starts.

Jehan spares him a glance but doesn't say anything still.

"And," he sighs, "he's kind of a dick."

Jehan snorts and flashes a smile but again doesn't say anything, going to look at another drawing and Grantaire follows along.

"But it's not like, his fault. I mean, I'm the one who's doing things and all. So don't blame him or something, okay?"

Jehan doesn't respond, but he doesn't need to, because Grantaire ploughs along anyways, "He just doesn't fucking--He doesn't see me, I feel like I'm doing everything and these past two months my life has been entirely revolving around him, and I still feel like he doesn't even see me as a person sometimes."

He purses his lips and looks at Grantaire now, inviting him to continue with his silence.

"And it doesn't fucking help that he's gorgeous," Grantaire laments, "that he fucking wins these high profile cases meanwhile I've had a two months dry spell on my art because I obviously can't paint around him. And he doesn't even tell me about it!" He scrubs his face with his hands, "He does all this amazing shit and he doesn't even think it's noteworthy enough to let me know. The only reason I found out about this case was because he was watching Scaramouche. Which by the way, too adorable. Not okay, he can't be gorgeous and cute.

"I just," He sighs and his voice is shaking. "You all are amazing, he has amazing friends and he's amazing, and I know I don't, I don't deserve any of you. Pero, even now with you talking to me like this--sometimes I think you all care, and sometimes I think he cares. But.."

"Grantaire," Jehan finally speaks, placing a gentle hand on his upper arm, "We do care, honey."

He shakes his head sadly, "I know I'm an outsider with you guys, you don't have to be nice about it."

"I'm not," he says firmly. "Grantaire, we care about you and so does Enjolras."

"Enjolras doesn't," and then his voice does crack and the tears do start rolling, "Enjolras doesn't care."

Jehan pulls him in close, letting him sob against the taller man's catprint dress shirt, staining it with tears and snot as he lets him cry it all out.

Grantaire does tell Jehan the whole story, once he's calm again. He's not sure if the others are worried yet given how long the whole thing takes, but he doesn't mind. They sit on the floor of the gallery, in the corner between Feininger's stick figures, huddled together while Grantaire finally tells the secrets he's been sitting on for too long.

Finally he breathes, shoulders feeling infinitely lighter.

"Are you mad?" He asks, a bit numb now.

Jehan shakes his head, running fingers through Grantaire's hair. "Not at you, at least. Well, I guess I'm upset with everyone, but not mad. I'm upset that Enjolras lied to us and assumed you'd just be fine through this whole thing. I'm upset that you were a jerk to everyone lately of course. But I'm also upset we pushed Enjolras to do it all in the first place, when, if he didn't want a partner, we should've honestly just left it at that. We all suck a little," he smiles and kisses Grantaire's forehead.

Grantaire laughs a bit and sniffles into Jehan's shoulder.

"You know, even when or if you and Enjolras actually break up and all, you're our friend regardless. I meant it when I said we care, Grantaire," he says seriously.

Grantaire nods, his arms tightening around Jehan's waist, "Okay. Assuming everyone doesn't hate me by the end of this, okay."

Jehan tuts, "They won't hate you. They're a sweet bunch, that's probably why we both like them so much."

They spend a few more minutes cuddling before Jehan finally asks, "So how were you going to piss me off? I'm curious."

Grantaire smiles but shakes his head, "We figured everyone would tell you their problems with me, so you'd have a bad enough impression of me off of that alone. Besides, if I actually, truly got on your bad side, I didn't want you to tear me a new one."

"Smart boy," Jehan smiles, ruffling his hair. "Do you want to head back now?"

"Um," he sits up a bit, rubbing at his eyes, "I don't exactly want to give an art tour when I look like I've been sobbing for hours. So maybe not so much."

Jehan chuckles, "Fine by me." He reaches over and places a hand on Grantaire's cheek, switching into Spanish "Baby, you are too good for this world and Enjolras doesn't deserve you. But I am glad you two did end up together."

Grantaire laughs though a couple tears fall again. "Hardly."

They stay like that nearly the whole night. Eventually Jehan gets a text people are leaving and he tells them not to worry, he and Grantaire are fine and will find their ways home soon.

\---

When Grantaire does get home, Enjolras is waiting with a bottle of champagne and his nice tie half-undone, and his curls falling out from their perfect positioning they held through the evening. He's a big sprawled out in the chair, looking comfortable and inviting and it's _not fucking fair._

Grantaire stops in the doorway, eyes wide.

"I thought," Enjolras starts, "I wanted to celebrate, since--yaknow--mission accomplished and all that."

Grantaire stares a bit longer before speaking, voice rough and hoarse "Let's go on that date now."

\---

Trying to find a place for a date at 11PM is a bit hard, but they make it work. They stay in their fancy outfits and go to a rundown diner that still operates out of its original 1950's trailer exterior.

"This is like a movie scene," Enjolras says off-handedly as he thumbs through the menu.

"It's like a Tarantino movie, honestly," he smiles down at the menu as if he doesn't have it nearly memorized by now.

Enjolras just hums.

Grantaire glances up, "You know what I'm referencing, right?"

"Yes?"

"Enjolras," He sighs as he puts down the menu.

He shrugs, "I don't watch many movies, what can I say."

"Unnexcusable. You can't watch Scaramouche but not know Tarantino, knowing old movies doesn't automatically make you cultured."

"You're going to teach me how to be cultured?" He raises an eyebrow.

"It is my job as a museum guide to be cultured, I'm as good a teacher as any."

Enjolras ends up smiling at him as the waitress comes, where Grantaire knows her name and about her kids and how her knee surgery went and if she should really be back at work so soon. It's like seeing him open up in the museum before, but this time he's flashing her his crooked canines.

The date actually goes incredibly well. It's a good thing it's a 24 hour diner because they do stay till 4AM, stumbling back home after an extra plate of waffles and a sundae they split on the house. It's just cold enough that they huddle together in the wee hours of the night as they fumble back to Enjolras' apartment building and up the stairs, somewhere along the line Enjolras' arm finding its way around Grantaire's waist.

Once they're inside, things get awkward. Enjolras and Grantaire's doors are close together and they both pause up in the hall, pressed together still with exhaustion and affection. Enjolras still hasn't let go of him and Grantaire's trying not to mentally freak out by this fact.

"I guess, I should get to bed," he says slowly, eyes flicking down to Enjolras' lips not too conspicuously.

"Probably," Enjolras says quietly.

"Now that, um, we're done and all, I need to pack too."

"Right," he agrees, but his eyes are fixed on Grantaire's face, his hand on Grantaire's side still tight. "Tonight was really good though."

"Was it?"

"Yeah... it was," and then Enjolras is leaning in and Grantaire simply can't.

He pulls away out of his reach, "Fucking hell."

"Grantaire?"

"Are you shitting me right now?" He scowls.

Enjolras blinks, "Did I do something wrong?"

"Everything!" He yells, "everything about this is wrong right now!"

Now he's hurt and confused, "Wh--?"

"If you kiss me, what happens then?" Grantaire asks angrily, "What happens when all your friends hate me?"

"Then, I'll..." Enjolras starts but isn't sure where he's going with that sentence.

"Exactly," he frowns as he reaches for his own door.

"We'll figure something out," he says firmly.

"I'm not signing up for another one of your stupid plans Enjolras!"

"I'm just trying to do what feels right, Grantaire," he yells back. "I'm trying to work through feelings too."

Grantaire makes a frustrated noise, ripping his tie off, "Do you have any idea how I spent tonight? Instead of doing my goddamn job, I was sobbing in Jehan for most of the evening. Because of you, Enjolras," he points with angry emphasis, "So don't tell me tonight was a good night. Tonight was a fuckshow and I've had enough feelings to last for quite a while, thanks," and with that he slams his door.

Enjolras stares at the door, shocked, for a few minutes. Neither of them sleep that night.

\---

That day, Enjolras has the usual, informal meeting with Les Amis. Rather than talk about social justice, it's one where they hang out and discuss the more administrative side--the one where Combeferre again is at the head of the table. This is where he officially breaks up with Grantaire, he feels like he's going into battle as he dons his t-shirt and red sweater. "I'm heading out," he calls down the hall and leaves without expecting a response.

-

A few minutes later Grantaire emerges, a bit frumpled up in his shirt and jeans, but he's seen worse days, heading out the door. Jehan had texted him that morning about this meeting, inviting him to come to at least tell the truth about the they'd gotten themselves into. He figures he might as well make amends, so he heads over, waiting down in the bottom half of the Musain like Jehan said. He makes sure to order Irish coffee because really he needs it right now.

\---

"So, Enjolras," Combeferre says, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "You are allowed to date whomever you so choose, however--"

"Your boyfriend's a dick," Bahorel cuts in.

Combeferre sighs, "we would prefer if he ceased to come to meetings from this point onward."

"You're banning him?" He asks, his eyebrows raised in feigned surprised. As if he didn't see something like this coming.

"You should break up with him, honestly," Courf says with an annoyed frown, "but that's the jist of it."

Enjolras nods slowly.

"Alright, then?" Combeferre asks. "In that case--"

"Wait," Enjolras says.

"Hm?"

"Wait," he repeats, a frown developing on his face, "Not adopted. Not adopted at all, I want Grantaire to come to meetings and I don't want to break up with him."

"Enjolras, he's--"

"You don't even know him!" Enjolras stands up in outrage, "Because all of you wanted me to just get laid so damn badly, when guess what? I liked being single! I was happy being single!"

"We've already explained to you why you being single was obviously not in your best interest, Enjolras," Courf says.

He scowls, "You don't get to determine my best interest for me, you guys were assholes about it and you had no right to try and pressure me into a relationship!"

"Yes but you already were in a relationship so--" Feuilly starts, but Enjolras cuts him of.

"I hired him to pretend to be my boyfriend so you'd shut up about it!"

Everyone gets wide-eyed at that, and there's a pause where Enjolras feels embarrassed, but then he continues, tone softer now, "So no, you don't even know Grantaire. You know the Grantaire who wanted to get into your good graces and now you know the Grantaire I told to piss you all off, but you don't actually know Grantaire." Enjolras fidgets as he stands now, eyeing the floor, anywhere but his friend's faces.

"You paid someone--" Joly starts.

"Yes and I'm sorry for lying, really--God--truly, I am sorry," he lets out like a big with. "With how damn complicated this has gotten, I can't say it was worth that, but it was worth meeting Grantaire," Enjolras continues, near yelling. "I want to be with the real Grantaire," he goes to leave, stopping in the doorway "Adopted!" As he slams it and storms downstairs.

Everyone sits in shock, astounded their Fearless Leader would actually go to all that trouble to lie to them.

"Wait for it," Jehan says with a knowing smile.

-

As Enjolras storms down the stairs, looking every bit an angry Achilles. He sees Grantaire sitting at the table closest, sketchbook out and graphite stains all on his hands.

"Grantaire," he breathes out. Then catches sight of the sketchbook. "You.."

Grantaire looks up and flushes, immediately trying to hide it. "It's--"

But Enjolras grabs it too quickly, checking the page, "You draw me..."

"A bit."

"Often," he says as he flips through the other pages, slowly smiling as the anger from before dissipates.

"I'm sorry--"

"I like it."

"You--" he stares up at him, "...You do?"

Enjolras looks up at him, a big smile, "And I like you too."

Grantaire's eyes flutter and he looks disbelieving, suddenly going pale as if the floor just dropped out from under him. "Y-You do?" He asks in a cracked voice.

Enjolras' smile crinkles, "Yes, Grantaire."

"Like," he takes deep measured breaths, "romantically like?"

Enjolras rolls his eyes, "Come on," he takes Grantaire by the wrist and pulls him up the stairs, and going back into the room where everyone is still sat.

"Everyone!" He announces as they enter. "This is Grantaire. The real Grantaire. And I'm in love with him, and I think he might be in love with me too."

"H-Hi, everyone," Grantaire smiles sheepishly.

\---

They spend most of that evening at the Musain, drinking easily as they're reintroduced to Grantaire. Enjolras spends most of the evening apologizing, though Jehan not to subtly reminds everyone they should be apologizing too, and everyone ends up forgiven by the end of the night. Grantaire talks with Bossuet, Bahorel, and Courfeyrac while ENjolras and Combeferre hang back by the table, sipping their non-alcoholic drinks.

"I told you he was good for you," Combeferre smiles over his juice.

"He is a goddamn mess and I love him for it."

"So I've heard."

"It feels good to say," he smiles.

"You threw us all through a loop, you know. We thought he'd gone insane and you'd gone insane putting up with him."

"So now that neither of those are the case," Enjolras starts, "Does he have your approval?"

Combeferre hums in consideration, "Are you going to break up with him if I say no?"

"No, but it'd be nice to have."

"Good," Combeferre smiles a little, "Democracy's important but not the best for determining relationships."

"So I've noticed. Now, do you..?"

"I told you already, I like him," he looks at Enjolras. "He is good for you, whether you realize it or not."

Enjolras smiles, taking another sip, “That’s alright.” He watches Grantaire gesticulate as he tells a story about his old apartment, a fond expression as Grantaire is an animated storyteller and he seems to glow around their friends. "I have a long time to figure it out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the pacing picked up a bit but this chapter had some heavy feels. yayayayyayay babies being cute. (say hi on tumblr ;) angrygayfriend.tumblr.com)  
> sorry I don't have insightful notes on this one, I just wanted to finally write an AU for all the dumb french rom coms I watch.
> 
> whoaaa I just realized I wrote a whole fic where they don't kiss not even once . oof. I'm having an existential crisis.


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